When the steed of my heart aches in weariness,
slit its throat with the sword of your tongue.
Move me with your wisdom, I can handle it despite that I am young.
Allow my blood-soaked sins to trickle into the river of purification.
Then bring your lips to the incision you made, and with your affection, make the pulsing pangs of this world dissipate.
You’re never too far for me to feel,
but if the cries of my steed prevent me from hearing,
call to the wind and convince her of all the goodness a union like ours could bring.
& if we are deserving, she will whisper your message to me.
Peace & Blessings,
Karima Osman
Nomadic Intuition 
Great poetry, do you mind explaining the imagery of your steed? Similar to that of being on a high horse is it?
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ah of course, the steed is the horse that is ridden by me. The “horse of my heart” moves me towards certain destinations and/or people. But this metaphorical steed has difficulty in the journey sometimes, because it inhales toxins from this dunya, hence why the next line says “slit its throat”… sort of as a release from what inhibits the steed’s breathing and ability to run towards towards truth
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